


pink is the sexiest color

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (but fuck that jerk anyway), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Light Angst, Love Confessions, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Premature Ejaculation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, not exactly Lincoln Campbell friendly, pink underwear, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Set at the beginning of Season 4. Daisy helps Coulson lie low for a bit.Written for the Happy-Go-Cousy challenge at johnsonandcoulson.com





	pink is the sexiest color

“Sorry, beggars can’t be choosers,” Daisy says, handing him the clothes she just stole from the laundromat. He can’t go back to the base covered in blood - she knows he is not going to try to bring her in by force, and his new superiors wouldn’t be too happy he let the infamous Quake go, after all this time he’s meant to be chasing the criminal. And her, well, she needs to change out of her battle suit to avoid attracting attention, and they’re way too far from one of her safe places to get back to a bag with some spare clothes.

“What are you talking about? This is _my color_ ,” he jokes, taking the pink underwear from her hand.

She smiles. It hurts a bit. She has tried to forget how he was. She gets back in fugitive mode.

“I know a motel nearby where they don’t ask questions,” she says, gesturing for Coulson to follow. She can feel his reluctance. “Someone needs to look at that cut,” she adds.

She finds it hard not to look at him all the time as they make their way there. It’s been so long. It feels longer than that. But even allowing Coulson to be near her for a bit feels dangerous. She’s worked too hard protecting him to throw it all away for sentimental reasons.

Daisy puts a towel over his shoulders to avoid getting blood on his new clothes. Indeed beggars can’t be choosers and she has to make do with a white t-shirt and old sweatpants. Coulson’s clothes are too big for him, and the blue shirt and the black trousers don’t match, but at least it doesn’t look like he’s been a bloody fights with some Watchdogs.

“You’re good at this,” Coulson comments as she cleans the wound over his right eye. That Watchdog didn’t do too much damage, but enough that she’s eager to take care of it.

They are sitting on one of the beds and apart from when she’s fighting someone this is the closest Daisy has been to another human being, physically, in six months. It makes the skin on the back of her neck prickle. She can smell Coulson, even under the scent of blood. She can smell something familiar. She didn’t know this was another of the things she had been missing all these months. His smell.

“I’ve had some practice lately,” she says, explaining her quick movements. He doesn’t need any stitches, thank god. She could do it, but it’d be a bit messy. “Though I normally have some scotch at hand to smooth things over.”

Though today she’s more careful than usual.

“So this what you do,” Coulson says. “You hide in a crappy motel room and patch yourself up after a fight. I’m so sorry, Daisy.”

She shrugs.

She wasn’t expecting that he would show compassion for her situation. After all it was all of her own making. She walked out on him after he had offered nothing but kindness and reassurance. He was the one who told her none of it was her fault. That no forgiveness was necessary.

Part of her expected Coulson to act out of character and berate her, judge her. She would deserve it after all. For Coulson to say he’s sorry for her pain and loneliness - she imagined that would sting too, just how his kind words had stung right after she broke free from Hive. But they don’t know. Daisy feels relief even though she knows she shouldn’t. It’d be better if he was angry at her. For both of them.

She shrugs. “Yeah, it sucks big time,” she admits.

Adrenaline pumps in and she has to stop herself from laughing. It feels so good saying that out loud. It feels so good having someone to say it to. It feels so good that someone is Coulson.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, putting his hand on her left shoulder. He wraps his fingers around it, loosely, unintrusive, very careful. Daisy almost laughs again - she’d love for him to be _intrusive_ , she has missed touch so much. But she has missed the carefulness of someone like Coulson more, she likes the loose gentle fingers. No, not someone like Coulson. No one touches her like that.

She keeps her eyes away from him, fixing them anywhere else.

Still they are so close on the bed she can’t look anywhere else but him. His shirt has rolled up his belly a bit and she can see the pink underwear peeking over the waist of his trousers. It’s an odd image, and it has an strange effect on Daisy. Something inside her starts and _accelerates_.

“What?”

“I can see your pink boxers,” she tells him.

Coulson blinks, confused for a moment.Then he looks down at his clothes, he chuckles, and smooths his shirt over the offending view, a bit awkwardly.

“I told you it was my color,” he jokes. 

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “Yeah it is.”

She grabs him by the neck and pulls him towards her, taking his mouth with hers.

She kisses Coulson, which of all the stuff she’s done lately might be the craziest, but God she’s — 

“I’ve missed you,” she tells him, between deep kisses. “I miss you.”

She twists her other hand into the front of his shirt, not- _his_ shirt, this already rumpled ugly stolen thing, and she draws Coulson closer and closer, as much as she can. He lets her open his mouth wider, passive but compliant, and suddenly it turns into a real kiss, not a mad desperate thing.

Daisy has two thoughts:

1) She thought - for a million different reasons - that she would never kiss anyone else again. A big part of it is that she was convinced she was going to get killed before she ever got the chance. 

2) She thought if she ever kissed anyone again she’d feel guilty about it. (She doesn’t).

Okay, THREE thoughts:

3) It feels fucking good and sexy and surprising.

What she doesn’t think about: this is Coulson, her everything, and the line she knew, early on, could never be crossed.

“Daisy,” he says her name - all whispery and it gets to her, though she’s sure he doesn’t intent it that way - and she’s sure he is about to stop her, to list all the hundreds of reasons why this is a bad idea, or to tell her, in a very sensitive very Coulson-like way, that he doesn’t feel that way about her. (And hey, she had no idea _she_ did, but now rejection feels both inevitable and unthinkable)

He doesn’t.

He just lets her name hang in the air between them, looking at her like he’s expecting something.

Daisy kisses him again, hoping that’s what he was expecting of her. He moans, which is a good sign, right? She feels his hands on the sides of her back, a hesitant ghostly touch, more like he’s anchoring himself than anything. What would it take to make him touch her? That seems too ambitious and greedy, for now she would settle for him letting her touch.

“I want to see them again,” she says.

“What?” Coulson asks.

He looks dazed, his eyes unfocused, his lips taking on a nice shade of red right under Daisy’s gaze.

She smiles. “Your boxers.”

He chuckles, tugging at the buttons of his stolen, unfamiliar pants.

“You didn’t need an excuse…”

They keep kissing, sloppily and messily.

Daisy shoves her hand under the pink underwear, wanting to make Coulson hard for her, wanting to be wanted, even if it’s ridiculous, the idea that he’d want her - much more ridiculous than the idea she might _want this_. Ridiculous is the word that keeps repeating in her mind - which is nice, such a soft word, like nothing else in her life. She teases Coulson with her hand, chasing down noises she could have never associated with the guy in the suit that showed up in a back alley to make her life less alone. She feels him grow completely hard, he was already on its way from her kisses, Daisy notes with certain pride. She moves her hand to his ass, lightly scraping the curve with her fingernails, insinuating herself between the cheeks. She always thought Coulson had a nice ass - hey, just because she never imagined to go there personally that doesn’t mean a girl can’t notice things. Like a lifeline she doesn’t stop kissing him. She feels, more than hears, the happy whine rising from his lungs.

“You like that?” she asks.

“Yes,” Coulson admits, nodding.

Daisy raises her eyebrow, impressed with the used-to-be guy in the suit. For dudes the idea is the ultimate relinquishing of control, which they don’t like. Daisy loves being the one in control.

She plays with the skin around the area, gently pressing her fingers, not daring to go any further without lube. It makes him sigh happily, and squirm against the mattress, obviously trying to get some relief for his arousal, and Daisy can barely recognize this person, can bare recognize herself, _What the hell are we doing?_ she thinks, smiling to herself, like she’s drunk, they’re drunk or crazy or maybe she’s forgotten how to act like a person, after so many months on her own - but what’s Coulson’s excuse? This is not like them, but maybe that’s a good thing, she decides.

“Do you want me to use my powers?” she asks.

Coulson makes an strained sound. 

“Can you do that?”

“I’ve done it on myself,” she replies. “Do you want me-?”

Coulson makes a choked noise.

“... _yeah_.”

She bends over and gives him a kiss on the cheek. In the cocktail of emotions she’s going through - desire and relief and the usual fear of punishment whenever she feels a moment of joy - what stands out is how much she loves Coulson, and she scrambles for a trace of guilt, because she’s supposed to be mourning someone else but all these months she has been mourning Coulson instead, not having him in her life.

“Oh, fuck,” he says when she starts using her powers, tiny waves of vibrations, and his body feels soft under her touch and then she feels it tensing up and then unwinding, and then Coulson laughs a bit hysterically.

It takes a moment for Daisy to realize it’s all over for him. 

“I’m so sorry,” Coulson says, looking mortified. “Let me try this again in a bit.”

He takes a long breath and exhales and it’s such a contented noise, Daisy doesn’t need anything else.

“It’s okay,” she says, running her hand across his back in a long caress. It’s hard to explain, but right now, getting Coulson off with her powers is more satisfying than getting off herself. It’s almost non-sexual, but it feels so right.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, words hurried in a raw voice. “It was just too much for me. The kissing and chasing your for months and your fingers… It’s. Too _good_. You and… your powers.”

His tone is strange, shy, and like he’s aroused all over.

 _Oh_.

Daisy realizes something.

“What?” Coulson asks, startled by her soft laughter.

“You make me so happy,” she says, lying on her side and her head on the mattress with him. He gives her a questioning look. “Ever since Hive…” she pauses - even after six months it feels too hard, too dangerous to talk about it. “I’ve felt like my powers are always going to hurt people, that there’s nothing good about them. It had taken me so long to accept them, to… love them. I lost that.”

“Hive took that from you,” Coulson adds.

She nods.

“But you… you love my powers.”

“They’re part of you,” he says. “Of course I love them.”

He props himself on his elbows, just enough, and he kisses her. It’s different, not initiating the kiss herself. She’s done that enough.

“I love you,” he says, as if there is a need to clarify.

It’s only the second time anyone has ever said that to Daisy. This time it feels good to hear it.

Daisy nods. “Yeah, I got that.”

“I didn’t. Get that. Until now.”

“Getting fingered clarifies a lot of stuff, uh?”

Coulson chuckles. Daisy would say she’s missed that sound too, but she’s not sure she’s heard it before. Not like this.

“It helps,” he tells her, all shameless and perfect.

He touches her hair, runs his fingers through it lovingly. There’s little to love about her hair right now, Daisy thinks, a mess after months of never knowing when or where she could get the next shower. It’s dry and frayed at the ends and in serious need of Daisy going back to a healthier diet. Coulson doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps touching her. What did it take for him to want to touch her?

“Come back,” he says. “Come back to SHIELD. I’ve missed you too.”

 _Obviously_ , Daisy thinks.

And she had imagined this exchange a million times, and was sure of her answer. But now...

“Will I have to sign the Sokovia Accords?”

“No,” Coulson says. “We’ll fight it. We’ll find a way.”

“I have stuff to do. Protect my people…”

“That’s why you have to come back,” he tells her, as if he hadn’t asked her because he missed her. “Fighting the Watchdogs is important. And you should have all the resources to do so.”

Daisy smiles. Who else can switch from the romantic to the political so seamlessly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmmm. I expected something more dramatic.”

“What? _Fireworks_?”

“No,” he slips his arm under hers and kisses her again. “I got those earlier.”

He has a naughty glint in his eyes and he looks younger than he is - though the age thing is not a problem for her, she’s had her share of scumbags her age and Coulson is… he’s not old, he’s just Coulson.

Daisy realizes he had probably imagined this conversation a million times as well. He probably imagined he’d have to convince her. That it wouldn’t be so easy.

It makes her nervous, how easy this feels.

But then again, she’s never had easy before.

Maybe it’s time. 

She gives the room a cursory glance, the mess they made on the bed.

“Some people are going to be looking for you by now,” she points out. 

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight again.”

She knows what he means. The idea of parting - even for a few hours - seems unbearable to her. Six months. It was too long. 

“Sorry,” Coulson adds. “I didn’t mean to put you in the spot. Pressure you.”

She smiles. They are so freaking alike. 

“I have to pick up a few things from a safe,” Daisy says.

“I’ll go with you. If that’s okay.”

She nods.

Coulson kisses her again, in a way that feels like a luxury she could get used to. In a way that makes her forget they should be stopping this nonsense and get going.

So much to do. How will the team receive her? They might be angry, bitter. How is Quake going to work inside SHIELD? What would people say when Coulson walks into the base with her by his side? Thankfully Coulson’s kisses help soothe those anxieties, or push them away for now.

So much to do. She thinks she should return their clothes to the laundromat at some point, they are someone else’s - but she has trouble thinking she’ll have to let go of the pink boxers.


End file.
